


To Watch the Holodeck Fill Up With Snow

by TransMartain (EternalLibrary)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Gen, Hiking, Snow, USS Tribble Threat, Winter, gratuitous Robert Frost references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalLibrary/pseuds/TransMartain
Summary: Click and Keyla go for a hike
Kudos: 4
Collections: USS Tribble Threat





	To Watch the Holodeck Fill Up With Snow

Click stops outside a (different) holodeck, waiting for Keyla. They're wearing their uniform, T'Vanas shawl and a replicated knit toque. When Keyla shows up, she is bundled up much more, a parka, mittens, scarf, toque and big snow boots. She says, "Computer, Pollack_Miles-to-Go, please." Then to Click, "I'm so excited, thanks for coming with me!"

"Of course," they reply.

The holodeck doors swish open to reveal a twilit forest already blanketed in snow, more falling softly.

Keyla says to Click, "Are you sure you'll be warm enough?"

"I am rated for temperatures down to 230 Kelvin," they say, then follow Keyla into the forest.

It's mostly pines when they enter, though bare birch and oak also stick skeletal out of the snow drifts. Keyla sighs happily. There are already snowflakes caught on her toque.

"Is this forest modeled after somewhere you know?" Click asks her.

"Not really" she says, finding a trail of footprints and turning to follow it. "It's more based on a poem. Do you know Robert Frost?"

Poetry is not a part of Click's memory banks, so they shake their head.

"Who's woods these are, I think I know," Keyla says, and Click realises she's reciting. "His house is in the village, though. He will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow." She recites the poem as they walk along the trail of footprints.

Click wishes he had higher boots, like she does. The snow has fallen into their boots and is melting, soaking their socks. It's vaguely uncomfortable. "You can tell it's an old poem," Keyla says with a laugh when she's done. "The idea of someone owning a _forest_." Click has never really hiked in snow like this. The snows on Mars tend not to reach the ground – tended, they remind themself. The falling snow is great fluffy clumps, light like cotton. The twilight never changes, probably part of the program, and Click can't see too far through the dim trees and snow infant direction. It's also quiet, just the sound of their footsteps crunching and _the sweep, of easy wind and downy flake_.

"Were there hiking areas like this where you lived?" Click asks Keyla. "Kind of," she says. "We were really close to the ocean. There was this one great trail...the whole thing was nearly three hundred klicks, hah, pardon the pun. All through the highlands... We can do that one sometime, I have a holodeck program for when I'm particularly homesick. Did you ever go hiking? Around Academy or on Mars?"

She has a way of asking about Mars so that they’re almost caught off guard, and remembering before they can stop themself.

“On Mars, sometimes,” they say. “I used to go to Gale Crater Park, to Aeolis Mons.”

She nods, and gestures for them to continue.

“The twenty-first century rover, Curiosity,” they say, “was based in Gale. You can – could – climb up the mountain to see it. There was a barrier, to prevent people from getting too close. It was powered by a small nuclear reactor. But,” they gesture their resistance to radiation, “I would sometimes get closer.”

Keyla giggles, “I can’t believe you used to be a little rebel!”

Click tilts their head, but as they are behind her, the effect is rather lost.

“You miss it,” she says, not looking back, speaking into the silence.

Click does not know how to answer.

“I miss home,” Keyla says, “but I know I can always get some leave and head home and my dads and mum will be there and the sea and everything.”

“There is melted snow in my boots,” says Click. It is not a good evasion. They find they don’t care.

Keyla stops and turns. Her face is in shadow, and so Click cannot see her look of concern.

“I’m sorry,” she says, nonspecific.

“There is no need to apologise,” says Click. “I did not accurately anticipate the footwear I would need.”

“Computer,” says Keyla, “can we have a pair of snow boots, size…” she looks at Click.

“Forty-one,” they supply.

“…and a pair of smart wool socks,” she finishes. The boots appear next to the trail, socks folded neatly on top.

Click takes a seat on a log, after brushing it off. They swap their shoes and socks for the new ones.

“I am sorry,” they say, when they’re done, “for…the inconvenience.”

Keyla grins at them. “There is no need to apologise,” she echoes. “Are you good to go a bit further?”

Click nods.

After half a kilometer they turn a bend and suddenly there is an open white expanse before them. Click realises it’s a lake, iced over and covered in snow. A pink glow on the far side indicates a hidden sun.

“Here we are,” says Keyla, throwing her arms out. “Frosty Bob Lake!”

Click tilts their head at her, and she laughs. “Inside joke,” she says.

Inside what, Click wonders. Aloud, they say, “It is very beautiful.”

She nods happily. They look over the lake in silence for some time.

“Can we return?” Click asks, eventually.

“Anytime,” Keyla says softly. “You can even come back on your own, if you like.”

“I would rather have your company,” Click says. “You are a knowledgeable hiking companion.”

She cuffs them gently on the shoulder. “Aw, dang boss, thanks.”

“Perhaps,” says Click. Pauses. The pause stretches. Finally, they say, “Perhaps we could hike Aeolis Mons, sometime.”

“I’d like that,” says Keyla. There’s another pause, and then she says, “Computer, arch.”

**Author's Note:**

> My mum and I have decided that Robert Frost's name is Frosty Bob.


End file.
